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Ordinary News Rumbling dawn delivery runs--fresh produce, newspaper vendors, sunup parade of pickup trucks--hardhats and sacks of three-penny nails riding the bench seats. Already my house is busy with flies--sentient beings I can’t kill (though Buddha knows I want to). Somebody’s droning mother or other pursues me from room to room. Mean in speech & manner last night, I suffer remorse. Try to be kinder to one another, Aldous Huxley chided in his dying. Old hackberry shading the drive is blighted with nipple gall maker due to drought. Resident crows couldn’t care less, claiming the crown branches. Middle age arrived like a season: predictable, unsuspected. Reckless beings in neighboring galaxies--why dwell on this? Stunned as a languishing adolescent, I drift towards vigia. What is the shape of that which can neither be known nor avoided? I hustle a pair of mating flies towards the open door--newspaper fan, throttling the daily news. |
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Issue #28, August, 2002 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.